


Etchings

by lil_utterance (persephone_flees)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-16
Updated: 2010-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephone_flees/pseuds/lil_utterance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time, Tara paints words across Willow's back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Etchings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 10,000 Lilies Porn Battle on LJ. Prompt: Willow/Tara, chamomile, fiery.

The tumble of Willow's hair formed a red-gold spill that Tara used to keep herself anchored. She sat slightly to one side of her lover, paintbrush in hand, taking down the words of the dark-eyed witch. Each syllable uttered formed one more line beneath the fiery halo that seemed to encompass her once-gentle Willow, and Tara knew her hand moved more and more slowly with every stroke of the inked proclamations. She also knew the moment that Willow recognized her hesitation.

"Too dark?" Willow asked, her laughter deep, rich, and bottomless. "Personally, I thought my word picture wouldn't be complete without hellfire, but I might be overreaching."

Tara didn't answer, merely dipped her brush in the inky depths of one of Willow's old books and positioned the now-moist brush for the next line of dictation.

"Fine," Willow muttered, "don't engage in this freak-and-pony show. Refuse to have an opinion. That'll make all the Big Bads go away."

"I have an opinion," Tara said quietly, "and yet, somehow, you're still here. So, please, continue to let your ego show."

Willow's sharp intake of breath caused the brush on her skin to shift, blotching and etching and weeping ink all over her skin.

"What do you want, witch?" she asked, her eye color deepening even further as if she had soaked up her own writings, the text she had used to line her own back.

"I want to know how you felt the last time we were here." Tara indicated the room around them, the burgundy sheets beneath them, the desert outside their very door. In the distance, she could barely make out the Slayer. "When our roles were reversed."

Willow whimpered, but it was too late. Already a picture had formed in her mind of the dream and the tastes and the feels and the sounds of waking dreams. Of speaking with the Slayer while sketching her feelings - their love - across her girlfriend's skin. First with the soft-sharp bristles of a tool designed for writing, later replaced with her own fingers, dabbed in paint. The words, once they were alone and no longer part of the Slayer's quest, were rendered more and more illegible with each caress of skin-on-skin, but their meaning only became clearer. When Willow finally gave up on speech altogether and sought Tara's mouth, she tasted the chamomile tea they had brewed earlier, making the kiss as contradictory as their love, both calming and exciting. She had come home.

"I'm dead, Will," Tara said, the weight of her hand bringing the other woman back to their present. "You _choose_ to resurrect me. You come here to talk with me, share with me. Why have you turned our dream into this nightmare?"

"Because," Willow said, "when you're having a nightmare, at least there's some relief when you finally wake up." She rested her forehead on her hands for a moment and then sighed. "Now, if you'll continue where we left off..."


End file.
